it was becoming so clear and hard to ignore that Lola had been busy for quite awhile. Her health didn't matter much, Now. You could tell from her face that she was finally, for once becoming happy with Jason, while Steve lurked around her Mother she wasn't going to let Lola go against her choices, Steve can be gone and forgotten regarding Lola's relationship but she wasn't going to let her have the satisfaction of knowing that she Let her go, easily. It came as a surprise (or rather shock) when Jason received the invitation from Mrs Xell to have a talk with the orphan she sponsored in school. Could it be that she is trying to pass a message across to Jason by sending him an invitation to see the kids?. Jason gave many talks and made news headlines, often to schools, and sometimes in press conferences, but this request was the most important thus far. Not only because of his reputation. But principally because the invitation came from Lola's mother and it couldn't have come at a better
The daily news carried the news of his family's dilemma, but it was several weeks before Lola received Jason's telegram letting her know that he and his were well. He didn't say when he would be back to the city, but she hoped that it would not be long. She thought often of their last day together, when she had gone to see him. Not knowing until she arrived that he had received a telegram calling him for his attention. She remembered offering to help him pack and how he had responded by pushing the suitcase aside and reaching for her instead. "You won't leave me, will you?" Lola whispered as he held her."Never," he said wrapping his arm more tightly around her waist. "I love you, Lola."Lola had picked April as the month when Jason would surely be back but, instead, April marked the time when his letters stopped. She wrote, phoned and sent telegrams but still no reply. And then one day, feeling utterly distraught and not knowing what to do, she heard that he had been in touch with t
SOME YEARS LATER"Put your head down. In Wolof we say Segel," Garcia explained. "Tennel se bop," Lola said, lowering her head so that Garcia could braid her hair at the back. Garcia started tightly at the scalp, and within seconds Lola could feel her fingers flying down the strand of her hair. "Tennel se bop," Garcia repeated. Fastening the braid with a small white bead. "Alors, now let's hear the days of the week."Lola smiled. Garcia was determined to teach her Wolof, and she felt grateful. She had learnt more Wolof with Garcia in a month than in her whole first year in Dakar."Altine, Talaata, Allarba, Alxames," she began, stopping on the way for Thursday. "Non. Regarde!" Garcia held the braid she was plaiting with one hand and bent over to show her how to position her lips. 'Ce n'est pas difficile," she insisted, pointing to her throat with the comb.Lola listened carefully. To her ears, it sounded like "Allah may." "Alxames," she tried again and started to laugh. "It's
It seemed that the older he got, the more he looked forward to the peace and quiet of Sunday mornings. Did he miss going to church? Not really. He still believed in God, or at least in the existence of a supernatural being, but he had grown disenchanted with organized religion. He disliked the newer services and found it embarrassing to watch people crying and confessing their so-called sins in public. He viewed the speaking in tongues with great suspicion and did not care much for St. George's congregation. It seemed church members worried more about displaying the latest fashions and newest German cars than in humbly worshiping God. His family had taken issue with him: he hardly attended services so how could he know what congregation were like? So Jason learnt to keep his views to himself and, while his wife and daughter worshipped at church, he played his records and read the papers. These days he listened less to Highlife and the jazz of his youth and more to the serious j
The one o'clock gong sounded, and Jason led both families to the long table where waiters in white suits and red cummerbunds were serving the guests white basmati rice and brightly yellow curry. It was then self-service from a line of silver trays, each with its own condiments - shredded coconut, green pickles, purple onion rings, sultans, tangerine segments, sliced banana, and tomato. Soft white rolls were brought to the table with shavings of butter floating in ice water to keep them from melting. "You know there's going to be a coup soon," Abdul announced when everyone was seated."But until the BBC says so, it's all a rumor," Jason asserted, smiling to himself at this unconscious borrowing from his father. Jason had wondered then whether his father really believed that the first accurate news would come from the BBC, or whether he had made the announcement to distract the men from their anxieties. "We just need a strong ruler, Abdul broke into Jason's thought. "Someone who c
That evening, after Ivy and Grace had gone to sleep, Jason went to his study to read. He started with what lay on his desk, some business journals, but soon he had put down his Reading and was looking in his drawer for something else. The object was a tattered dairy, which had found it's way to Jason. The address on the inside cover was the only bit of writing still clearly legible in Lola's old dairy, yet he kept these torn and yellowing pages and would look at them from time to time. There was nothing new to read and usually he would end up dreaming about what might have been. What might have been had she stayed with him or had he joined her in the city or joined her in Dakar. And then then a door creaked, followed by the sound of flip-flops slapping gently against the wooden floor. It was Ivy on her way to the toilet."Lola" Jason whispered, turning back to the journal and thinking that had it not been for his mistake, had he known, had they known that the pregnancy would not ho
"When I have a house it will be just like Auntie Hélèn's," Ivy would say. "Maybe not so big, but it will have lots of art." And there was certainly an abundance of art in the Cohen's home, Hélèn, like Edward, had a collection of paintings from around the world as well as sculptures and bronzes from across Africa. On the visit, as a special treat for Ivy, Hélèn had invited two local artists to the house to talk about their craft. One was a Carver and the other a bronze sculptor. Of course Ivy had been thrilled and Jason had watched the amusement as his daughter badgered the artists with questions. The Carver, a man by the name of Damon, had brought a small collection of his works. The inspiration for these, he explained, came from a great uncle who enjoyed telling stories about his former boss, named Lugard. When Jason heard this he could hardly contain his excitement. Might this be Lord Lugard? So if this old man could still remember stories, that would certainly be very exciting
Eventually, on the third day, Jason found a way of walking alone with the old man. "So, what shall I tell you about my old boss, Lugard?" The old man smiled as he spoke. ""Even before the time whereby I started employment with My Boss, Lugard and his Lady, my father was in Lugard's service before me. He was the one who accompanied my Boss, Lugard Borgu, to claim it away from the French. You follow?" "Yes sir," Jason nodded, bemused by the man's obvious admiration for his old boss and wondering, as he continued recounting his stories, how much of his ways had been learnt from Lugard. "Sometimes, he would ask for my advice on international affairs."Jason nodded, finding this particularly interesting, as it was a side of Lugard not reflected in the diaries. Jason laughed, his mind now racing with questions as the man continued to talk about his time with Lugard. As he talked, Jason found himself thinking of his father. The more he listened to older people, the more he realized
Jason was receiving an award for his book that he'd published and Jimmy was in the city, so he did the best thing he could before running off to Florence. It has been a long time since he'd been around but the event that had unfolded recently had taught him to spend more time with family. Encaenia took place in the Sheldonian - a long and rambling ceremony conducted in Latin for six distinguished persons though, in Lola's mind, this was a celebration mainly for Jason. At last, he was receiving the recognition he deserved. After the ceremony, she stood and watched him with pride as he mingled with guests. She had met Jason briefly before the ceremony and they had hugged, but hardly spoken; too many people and not enough time. She thought at first that it was perhaps the way it should be, with no time for sentimentalism, but no, she decided that it was not the way it should be. They needed more time. "Do you know all these people?" Malik whispered."No." Lola shook her head, even tho
Night had fallen over Shekina. Jimmy stood alone on the porch of the fieldstone house enjoying the sounds of laughter and reunion drifting through the screened door behind him. The mug of coffee in his hand had granted him hazy reprieve from his mounting exhaustion, and yet he sensed the reprieve would be fleeting. The fatigue in his body went to the core. "You slipped out quietly," a voice behind said.He turned. McEwan's grandmother emerged, her silver hair shimmering in the night. Jimmy gave a tired smile. "I thought I'd give your family some time together." Through the window, he could see McEwan talking with her brother. Sophie's grandmother came beside him. "Mr. Jim, when I first heard of Esquibel's murder, I was terrified for McEwan's sake. Seeing her standing in my doorway tonight was the greatest relief of my life. I cannot thank you enough."Jimmy had no idea how to respond. Although he had offered to give McEwan and her grandmother time to talk in private, she had asked
"Davis?" McEwan was standing outside the car, looking back at him. "Are you coming?" She was holding the rosewood box, which captain Romano had returned to them. Inside, both cryptex had been reassembled and nested as they had been found. The verse was locked safely at its core - minus the shattered vessel of vinegar.Making their way up the long gravel path, Jimmy and McEwan passed the famous west Wall of the chapel. Casual visitors assumed this oddly protruding wall was a section of the chapel that had not been finished. The truth, Jimmy recalled, was far more intriguing. Shekina chapel's entrance was more modest than Jimmy expected. The small wooden door had two iron hinges. The chapel would be closing soon, and as Jimmy pulled open the door, a warm puff of air escaped, as if the ancient edifice were having a weary sigh at the end of a long day. Entering with McEwan, Jimmy felt his eyes reaching across the famous sanctuary and taking it all in. Although he had read accounts of She
The mist had settled low as Amorth limped into a quiet hollow out of sight. Kneeling on the wet grass, he could feel a warm stream of blood flowing from the bullet wound below his ribs. Still, he managed.The fog made it look like heaven here.Raising his bloody hands, he prayed, but most importantly he prayed for his mentor… Myositis… that he would not fade with the sands of time. The fog was swirling around him now, and Amorth felt so light that he was sure the wisps would carry him away. Closing his eyes, he said a final prayer.His pains at last began to fade, and he knew Myositis was right. It was late afternoon when the London sun broke through and the city began to dry. Andrie Romano felt weary as he emerged from the interrogation room and hailed a cab. Sir Albert Rodriguez had noisily proclaimed his innocence, and yet from his loose ranting about the Archstone, secret documents, and mysterious brotherhood, Roman suspected the sly historian was setting the stage for his lawye
Myositis's body had endured many kinds of pain, and yet the searing heat of the bullet wound in his chest felt profoundly foreign to him. Deep and grave. Not a wound of the flesh… but closer to the soul. He opened his eyes, trying to see, but the rain on his face buried his vision. He could feel powerful arms holding him, carrying his limp body like a rag doll, his black cassock flapping. Lifting a weary arm, he mopped his eyes and saw the man holding him was Amorth. He was struggling down a sidewalk, shouting for a hospital, his voice a heart-rending wail of agony. His red eyes were focused dead ahead, tears streaming down his face. "My son," Myositis whispered, "you're hurt." Amorth glanced down, his visage contorted in anguish. "I am sorry sorry, Father." He seemed almost too pained to speak. "No," Myositis replied. "It is I who am sorry. This is my fault. I was too eager. Too fearful. You and I were deceived." Myositis was unconscious when the doors of St Luke's hospital hiss
Jimmy and McEwan moved slowly down the north aisle, keeping the shadows behind the ample pillars that separated it from the open nave. Despite having traveled more than halfway down the nave, they still had no clear view of the tomb. The sarcophagus was recessed in a niche, obscured from this oblique angle."At least there's nobody over there," McEwan whispered.Jimmy nodded, relieved. The entire section of the nave near Klaus' tomb was deserted. "I'll go over," he whispered. "You should stay hidden just in case someone-"McEwan had already stepped from the shadows and was headed across the open floor."-is watching," Jimmy sighed, hurrying to join her.Crossing the massive nave on a diagonal, Jimmy and McEwan remained silent as the elaborate sepulcher revealed itself in Tantalus increments… a black-marble sarcophagus… a reclining statue of Klaus… two winged boys… a huge pyramid… and… an enormous orb."Did you know about that?" McEwan said, sounding startled.Jimmy shook his head, als
Jimmy had not gotten his eyes off the computer screen since the search began. He was starting to get worried.Anita Istredd was in the adjoining room, preparing hot drinks. Jimmy and Sophie had inquired unwisely if there might be some coffee brewing alongside the tea Istredd had offered, and from the sound of the microwave beeps in the next room, Jimmy suspected their request was about to be rewarded with instant Nescafe.Finally, the computer pinged happily."Sounds like you got another," Istredd called from the next room. "What does it say?"Jimmy looked at the screen, disappointed.They sat patiently in front of the screen and waited through two more dubious returns. When the computer pinged again, nothing interesting happened.Istredd peeked back in the doorway, holding a packet of instant coffee. "You don't want the full text," Istredd called. "Click on the hypertext title. The computer will display your keyword hits along with mono prelogs and triple post logs for context."Jim
Copus peccate's headquarter in London is a modest brick building. Amorth had never been here, but he felt a rising sense of refuge and asylum as he approached the building on foot. Despite the rain, Beardsley had dropped him off a short distance away in order to keep the limousine off the main Streets. Amorth didn't mind the walk. The rain was cleansing.At Beardsley's suggestion, Amorth had wiped down his gun and dispose of it through the sewer grate. He was glad to get rid of it. He felt lighter. His legs still ache from being bound all the time, but he had endured far greater pain. He wondered, though, about Rodriguez, who Beardsley had left bound in the back of the limousine. The Briton certainly had to be feeling pain by now."What will you do with him?" Amorth had asked Beardsley as they drove over here.Beardsley had shrugged. "That is a decision the Teacher would make." There was an odd finality in his tone.Now, as Amorth approached the building, the rain began to fall harder
Jimmy still felt shaken as he and McEwan came from the rain and entered the library. The primary research room was as Rodriguez had described it - a dramatic octagonal chamber dominated by an enormous round table with twelve flat-screen computer workstations. On the far side of the room, a reference librarian was just pouring a pot of tea and settling in for the day of work. "Good morning," she said in a beautiful British accent, leaving the tea and walking over. "May I help you?""Thank you, yes please," Jimmy replied. "My name is-""Jimmy Davis." She gave a pleasant smile. "I know who you are."For instance, he feared Romano had put him on English television as well, but the librarian's smile suggested otherwise. Jimmy had not gotten used to these moments of unexpected celebrity. Then again, if anyone on earth were going to recognize his face, it would be a Librium in a religious studies reference facility."Anita Istredd," the librarian said, offering her hand. She had a friend